Between the Sheets
by Marquesa de Santos
Summary: Companion piece to PersephonePenguin's Not Forever on AO3, or Archiveof ourown . org. dub-con. Will make absolutely no sense unless you read the original. Go now, or don't complain you can't understand this piece. Rumbelle. A series of oneshots.


**Note: Companion piece to PersephonePenguin's "Not Forever" on AO3. Takes place between chapters 4 and 5.**

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Between the Sheets

Part One

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His room is just as it was this morning, all heavy drapes and large, much too large for one person. Belle swallows, for his bed is also overlarge, and this will now be her room, her bed. His hand is insistent on hers, and she follows. She almost wishes they had just been done with it in front of the hearth, when his hands were everywhere, and she couldn't think. The interlude has added more awkwardness, and it is with surprise that she realizes the heat in his eyes is arousing.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, loosening his tie, he stares purposefully at her, and she realizes her own shirt is still in disarray. With a start, she finds her face flushing with heat. He beckons her to him, and she is in his lap again, feeling his length against her own wet heat as he makes quick work of the rest of her buttons. At first his face is impassive but for the desire, and the he looks disgruntled.

"What is this?"

"My, ah… my underwear is 'holey.'" Her attempts at quoting "holey" are hampered by his head, and he only looks at her before muttering something about buying her new clothes and divesting her of her admittedly tattered bra. The haziness in his eyes is back and his hands are on her breasts, kneading and squeezing, and oh! It feels much better than it should when his hand brushes over her nipple so deliciously. She vaguely wonders when her body decided to betray her and unbutton his shirt in kind. The fabric whispers from his skin.

There is no room in her head for regret when his mouth latches on to her nipple, tongue and teeth teasing with a string of pleasure down to her hot place. She lets a sort of breathy moan escape, and he stops again before grinning, her nipple trapped between his teeth. Gold takes a certain pleasure in this, because while tonight he will take his fill of her, if she enjoys his taking, all the better.

He would love to continue forcing those noises from her mouth, but she is writhing in his lap and he needs to be inside her, needs to take her, needs to know what she feels like. The transition from her straddling him to him being over her is all limbs and legs, and "Fuck, sorry, did I hit your knee?"

"Don't worry about it dearie," he indulges, before removing her ratty jeans and rattier panties. He is about to inform her that he will bring her more suitable lingerie tomorrow, but then her hands are around his belt buckle, and his pants are gone, and his erection is tenting his boxers. Her movements up to now have been clumsy, endearing, but now she is lying there with something akin to shock on her face.

Gentleman he is not; he never has been and he has no intentions of becoming one tonight, but he can't help but ask her if she's done this before. She stutters, grasping at straws. "I mean, I'm not a prude, but just, you know, you don't really get the chance to meet people where I was…"

Nodding, he knows now he must be gentle with her. No use in breaking a shiny new toy, and really, hurting her is not high on his to-do list. "Hush, dearie," his accent is strong, and she cannot help but feel drawn to it. She nods, and his mouth is insistent on hers, inching its way down her neck. It is not unpleasant, she thinks, and then he pulls his boxers down and she can see all of him.

When he takes himself in his hand, grunting, she realizes, she lifts her hips up, spreads her legs. He guides himself to her wetness, and it feels so strange. He pushes, stretches her impossibly, and it is more uncomfortable than painful as her body tenses. She gives a little moan; not quite pain and not quite pleasure, before trying, moving. This isn't so bad, she realizes, and he begins to match her experimental thrusts with his own.

This is his last coherent thought before he begins to move within her, probably far too quickly for her comfort. She is breathing heavily, though, making these little noises and it's driving him insane as he plunges deeper and deeper and then he is done, collapsing on top of her as she continues gasping.

It's not so bad, she thinks, really. It was rather enjoyable, especially when he played with her breasts. It felt better than she'd thought, and he'd been nicer than she expected. She is aching though, both from want and pain.

"You alright, pet?"

"A little out of sorts."

He looks very much pleased, the veritable cat that ate the canary, and he rolls off of her. His fingers begin to tease her skin, and to her horror, she moans. "Perhaps this will help," he smirks, and his fingers are against her core, teasing at her clit and delving into her. "Oh!" She gasps as two fingers curl inside her repeatedly as his palm brushes the bundle of nerves. Her hips are moving on their own volition, and then she tumbles over the edge, her fingers clutching the comforter as her walls clench around his unyeilding fingers.

"Better?" He asks, and she nods. It is surprising that he eases her under his covers, cuddling with her, but she is still very much out of sorts. She doesn't want to be crying. This could have been much worse, much much worse, and it's not even that she didn't enjoy it…

"Belle?"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, it really, I'm not, you know, I'm not ungrateful, I mean, that wasn't, you know, I just feel," she sniffles, "I feel like a whore, you know?"

His fingers, the same ones he used to bring her to orgasm, are stroking her hair, sticky. It is oddly comforting.

"You're no whore, dearie. If you'd been a whore, I wouldn't have offered you this arrangement. If it makes you feel any better, I am a monster. I'm not kind. Place the blame on me, if you wish." He places a kiss on her neck; his tongue and teeth teasing until she squeaks from something in-between hurt and pleasure. "You're no whore. I'm certainly not sharing you, dearie."

She nods, and while this should not be comforting, her heart is soothed. She is asleep before he is, her last memory being his broad hands patting her auburn curls.

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**My first smut... please let me know what you think!**


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